Marie de Courfeyrac
by JenValjean24601
Summary: Written in response to my own Halloweenslash challenge. In my other story, The Talk, Marius mentions an incident involving Courfeyrac in a dress. Well, here it is. Crossdressing and lovely, lovely slash. Updated!
1. Chapter 1

Authoress' Note: This story was written in response to my own Halloween/Slash challenge. It's a prequel of sorts to my other story, "The Talk." There's a part where Marius mentions an incident involving Courfeyrac in a dress. Well, here it is...

* * *

Courfeyrac looked at the wineglass in his hand for only a moment before downing its contents in one swift gulp. "Barkeep!" he roared. "Let's have another, shall we?" A large, brawny fellow standing at the other end of the bar looked up at Courfeyrac briefly, then gruffly answered, "Wait one minute, will you?"

Beside Courfeyrac sat Marius, red-cheeked, with his face buried completely in his hand. "Dear Lord, Courfeyrac," came his voice, greatly muffled. "It's only eleven in the morning. Have some decorum."

"Decorum!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, swinging around on his barstool, early falling off. "You're telling _me_ to have some decorum? Why don't you tell that to _Marie_!"

"She's not here."

"Oh dear God, Marius! Don't remind me!" Courfeyrac let out a choked sob. "Barkeep! Please! Send over another glass of wine right away! Or better yet, just send over the bottle!"

Growling, the barkeep stomped over and slammed a bottle of cheap wine down in front of Courfeyrac. "Here!" he snapped. "Now don't bother me again!"

But the inebriated Courfeyrac was much too distraught to acknowledge the barkeep's last request. He pulled the cork from the wine bottle with his teeth and spit it out unto the floor.

"Courfeyrac?" Marius ventured timidly.

No response. Courfeyrac filled his wineglass to the brim.

"Courfeyrac?" Marius repeated.

Still no response. Courfeyrac sighed a great sigh, and swirled the wine around the glass.

"Courfeyrac!"

Still ignoring his friend, Courfeyrac instead cried, "Oh, my dear, sweet Marie! Why ever did you leave me!" He gulped down the wine. "Oh, Marius!" he cried, lunging at the poor boy and grasping him about the shoulders. "Marius, my dear boy! If only you'd ever been in love. Then you would understand! You would understand my pain! My _suffering_! Oh, Marie! My darling! Come back to me!" Grasping the wine bottle with both hands, Courfeyrac raised it to his lips and drank directly from it. Rivulets of red liquid ran down his chin and unto his shoulder.

"Courfeyrac!" Marius exclaimed, grabbing the wine bottle away from his friend. "Stop that! You'll make yourself sick!"

"You don't understand-" Courfeyrac began, reaching for the bottle.

"Of course I don't understand," Marius replied. Keeping the bottle firmly out of Courfeyrac's reach, he got down from the barstool and retrieved the cork from the floor. Jamming it back into the bottle, he continued, "Courfeyrac, you've known this woman for scarcely a week, yet you say that you love her. How can you love her? You hardly know her! Tell me truly, what could you possibly love about her?"

Courfeyrac thought a moment, then answered definitively, "Most definitely her bosom. Or her legs. Or, come to think of it, the place between her bosom and her legs was also rather nice…"

Marius looked confused, and said, "I hardly think that's grounds for falling in love with her, Courfeyrac."

"Oh, but Marius-"

"Stop."

Courfeyrac scowled. He sullenly turned back to the bar, and rested his chin in his hand.

"That's better," Marius said.

"No, it's not," Courfeyrac muttered. "It's not better at all! What am I to do about tomorrow night!"

"What's tomorrow night?"

"The masquerade ball that Prouvaire invited us to!"

Marius groaned. "Courfeyrac, you weren't seriously considering going to that, were you?"

"Of course I was! Just think of how many women will be there!"

Marius considered asking Courfeyrac why he was so upset to lose a date to an event during which he would only abandon her and flirt with other ladies anyhow, but decided against it. Instead, he said, "The only people there are going to be rich friends of the Prouvaire family. And those women wouldn't take a second look at you. All they're interested in is each other and what they're wearing. You don't stand a chance against the latest fashions. Besides, you don't have a date."

Courfeyrac pondered this a moment. Then he answered, "You're right."

"But, Courfey-oh, you've agreed with me for once. Thank-"

"I need a date," Coureyrac cut him off again. "But who?"

Marius watched him warily.

"Who can I take to this ball? I can't think of one woman who would want to go with me on such short notice! Unless-" Courfeyrac broke off. He furrowed his eyebrows and tapped his chin anxiously. "Damn," he muttered.

After a few moments, Marius said, "Courfeyrac?"

"Of course!" Courfeyrac shouted, jumping up from his stool and slamming a fist onto the bar. "I've had the perfect date all along! How could I have missed it? I'm so stupid to not think of this before!"

"Who is the lucky girl?" Marius asked tentatively.

Courfeyrac smiled his roguish smile and replied decisively, "Why, _I_ am!"


	2. Chapter 2

Marius shifted around uncomfortably. It was chilly standing outside of the Prouvaires' extensive manor, and he felt uncomfortable in his plain, black, worn attire in the midst of all of the richly dressed bourgeois. He turned to his friend.

"Courfeyrac," he whispered. "Why don't we just go home?"

Courfeyrac leaned in close to Marius and hissed back, "No! Prouvaire invited us, and we will attend. There will be _scores _of women here, and that is a chance that I will _not_ pass off. Besides," Courfeyrac added with a smirk. "I look pretty."

"You look ridiculous," Marius muttered in reply. "You'll never be able to pass yourself off as a woman."

Courfeyrac feigned shock. "Why, Marius, I'm surprised at your lack of faith! How could anyone mistake me for anything _but_ a woman? Just look at me!"

Marius did so, and made a face. Courfeyrac was wearing a pale pink silk evening gown, cut low in the bodice and with tiers of ruffles in the skirt, and a matching hat. He had somehow squeezed his feet into a delicate pair of heeled boots. He had made an attempt to cover the stubble on his chin and cheeks with great amounts of rouge, making the general hue of his face the same as the hue of his garment. He had attached false lashes to his eyelids, and curled them to an extreme degree. And to top it off, he had painted his lips a bright cherry red, which completely and utterly clashed with everything else he had on.

"You look ridiculous," Marius repeated. "Where in God's name did you _get_ that, anyhow?"

"It's Marie's," Courfeyrac replied. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Oh, dear God, it still smells of her unearthly perfume…"

"If it's Marie's," Marius said slowly. "Then why do _you_ have it?"

"She left it at our flat the last time we-oh, I can't even say it! That last glorious weekend I spent with her is the last memory I will ever have! Oh God! It's simply too much to bear!"

Marius sighed, and repeated, "You're never going to pass yourself off as a woman, Courfeyrac."

"Of course I will," Courfeyrac replied breezily. "Now be a good boy and put your arm around my waist."

"What!"

"I said, now be a good boy-"

"I know what you said!" Marius exclaimed. "But I will _not_ put my arm around you! Why is it that other men always want me to touch them? First Grantaire, now you-"

"I'm not Grantaire," Courfeyrac interrupted. "And I'm _not_ going to try to sleep with you."

Marius looked confused. "But we sleep together every night," he said slowly. "We only have one bed."

"Marius, you know what I mean!"

"No…"

Frustrated, Courfeyrac again leaned in to Marius and said in his ear, "Marius, come on, please be reasonable. You keep saying that I'll never pass myself off as a woman. Well, of _course_ I'll never pass myself off as a woman if you don't treat me like one! So just put your arm around my waist, and be a _gentleman_, why don't you? It's just for this one night! And after this one night, I promise, you'll never have to touch another man ever again. Please, Marius? For me?"

Marius looked at him for a moment, and then finally gave in. "Never again," he muttered, putting a slender arm around Courfeyrac's waist.

Courfeyrac grinned maniacally, revealing that he had apparently applied rouge to his teeth in addition to his lips. "What a friend!" he exclaimed. "I love you, Marius!"

"Please, no…"

"Oh, the line's moving!" Courfeyrac cut him off again. "We're almost to the door. Now, when he asks for our names, you just tell him yours, and let me answer for myself, you understand?"

"Yes," said Marius hesitantly.

"Good."

Within moments, the strange couple was standing at the door to the grand ballroom in front of a very tall and thin elderly man with long silver hair and piercing blue eyes. Without giving a second glance at the two men, he intoned, "Names?"

"Marius Pontmercy," Marius answered promptly.

The butler looked down at the long list in front of him. "You're on the list, sir," he droned. "And for you, miss?"

"Marie de Courfeyrac," Courfeyrac answered in an absurdly high falsetto. He curtsied clumsily.

The butler again scanned the list. "You are also on the list," he told Courfeyrac. He moved towards the door.

"Thank you," Courfeyrac replied, again in his falsetto voice. He looked at Marius expectantly. Miserably, Marius offered him his arm. Beaming, Courfeyrac took it with a flourish. They followed the butler into the ballroom.

"Marius Pontmercy and Marie de Courfeyrac," the butler announced in a loud, nasal voice, while gesturing for the two men to enter the room.

Marius almost passed out when he saw the scores of elaborately dressed, happy people all dancing, laughing and eating together, whereas Courfeyrac could only exclaim, "Shit! I forgot my costume!"


	3. Chapter 3

Marie de Rougemont fanned herself petulantly, her tiny foot stamping impatiently against the hard ballroom floor, as her eyes scanned the crowd for any sign of her escort. Though she had sent him off to fetch her a glass of punch nearly a quarter of an hour ago, he had not yet returned, and she was starting to get irritated. How dare he keep a lady waiting for so long! Didn't he know that he was to stay by her side for the duration of the entire evening, unless he was specifically told to fetch her a glass of punch? And didn't he realize that when he _was_ told to fetch her a glass a punch that he was to return immediately and present to her the aforementioned refreshment with a flourish and a kiss on her delicate hand? What a child! What an imbecile! Marie rolled her eyes and sighed angrily. _Where could he be?_

"Marie!"

Marie whirled around, her green eyes flashing with rage. "Prouvaire!" she snapped. "Where have you been?"

"My darling, I am so sorry!" he apologized. "I would have returned sooner, but I was distracted by all of the beautifulcostumes. Did you see the woman dressed as a butterfly? Simply-" He was cut off by an exasperated huff, which seemed to remind him of something. "Oh yes! I almost forgot." Prouvaire leaned forward and took one of Marie's tiny white hands. After gently kissing it, he placed the crystal glass of punch inside, and said, "For you, Marie."

She looked at it distastefully, and without a second thought turned the glass upside down and poured the contents all over her consort's shoes. Tossing the empty tumbler over her shoulder, she sighed, "Well, I don't want it _now_."

Prouvaire looked crushed.

With a belated sense of self-reproach, Marie thought to save face, and cooed to Prouvaire, "Oh, Jehan, please forgive me my temper! You know how I can be impatient, don't you?"

Brightening, Prouvaire answered, "Oh, of course, my darling! It was my fault anyhow. I should have come sooner."

Still oozing a despicable sort of sweetness, Marie took Jehan's arm, and suggested, "Why don't the two of us walk around for a few moments? I think it would help me clear my head."

"Of course!" Prouvaire immediately rejoined, beaming up at her. "We shall do whatever you would like!"

Marie smiled smugly, and led her date away into the crowd.

* * *

"That one, there, do you see how low the cut of her gown is?" Courfeyrac indiscreetly pointed to a buxom brunette in a daring teal dress. The woman looked insulted and swirled away with an angry huff. "Ah, if only her seamstress had taken a few more inches!" Courfeyrac sighed. "And that one there!" He inclined his head in the direction of an attractive older woman with a large brown hat and a cat mask. "I'm sure _she's_ had a bit of experience dealing with men!" He threw back his head and laughed heartily, causing several people to turn about to look and see where all of the noise was coming from. 

"Courfeyrac, for the _last time_, will you please _stop that_?" Marius hissed. "People can _hear_ you!"

"My. Name. Is. Ma-_rie_!" Courfeyrac snapped. "Now _use it _before you blow my damn cover!"

"You're blowing your own cover!"

"I am not," Courfeyrac muttered sulkily. "Besides, it's not like it matters anyhow. You won't let me talk to any of the women."

"With good reason!" Marius exclaimed. "Have you any idea how ridiculous-oh dear God, someone's coming to talk to us-"

"Good evening, sir!" Courfeyrac interrupted, his voice sliding up an octave and a half.

"Good evening, miss," a tall gentleman dressed all in grey responded. "Isn't this the most splendid gala you've ever attended?"

"Oh yes," Courfeyrac agreed enthusiastically, nodding his head like an old chicken. "Simply marvellous!"

"The Prouvaires have truly outdone themselves this time," the gentleman went on. "So whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to, miss?"

Theatrically gesturing to his own breast, Courfeyrac introduced himself, "I am Marie de Courfeyrac, sir." He then rest a hand on Marius' shoulder. "My escort is Marius Pontmercy."

"de Courfeyrac, you say?" the man in grey said. "A very old name in Paris, to be certain!"

"We _are_ members of the old aristocracy," Courfeyrac told him, infusing his voice with a note of pride that he did not feel. His wide pink hat dropped off of his head and fluttered down onto the floor. "Oh, how clumsy of me!" Courfeyrac tittered, bending over to retrieve it. Unfortunately, this action caused the front of his dress to slip down, revealing a wide patch of dark chest hair. At this, the man in grey paled noticeably.

"Oh, dear me, I'm so sorry, I must be going now, so lovely to meet you, good night!" he prattled, backing away from Courfeyrac and Marius with a curious expression on his face. A few paces away, when he judged it to be safe again, the gentleman turned around. His foot came down on a glass tumbler, and he lost his balance. Flailing wildly, he gracelessly slipped across the dance floor until a butler carrying a tray of cherry tarts caught his fall. Gentleman, butler and tarts all toppled forward into a dancing couple dressed as an admiral and a mermaid. The mermaid hit the floor first, with the other three men crashing down on top of her. Several guests let out yelps of surprise as they were showered with stray cherry tarts.

Confused, Courfeyrac turned away from the carnage and asked Marius, "Now, what was that all about?"

Marius rolled his eyes. "Come on, _Marie_. Let's go get some punch."


End file.
